


Cravings

by springsdandelion (writergirlie)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirlie/pseuds/springsdandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss never gave much credence to pregnancy cravings--until she had her first one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cravings

**Cravings**

 

I always thought that cravings were nothing but an old wives’ tale. My mother didn’t have them when she was pregnant with Prim—and as far as I know, she didn’t have them with me, either. Then again, both times, she was more preoccupied with getting enough sustenance in her to feed the growing child in her belly, and she couldn’t really afford to indulge in luxuries like cravings.

 

When Delly Cartwright tells me they’re just a normal part of pregnancy and not to fret when they hit me, I just smile politely and go about my business. I don’t give it a second thought. She tells me this when I’m just barely sixteen weeks along, when I’m not even ready to tell anyone yet. I was hoping to keep the news between me and Peeta for a little bit longer, but my breasts are starting to strain against the tight material of my shirt and there’s not much I can do to hide the puffiness in my face. One morning at the bakery, I notice Haymitch staring at me a little too intently as I sweep the floor. He’s squinting at me, like he’s trying to work out a puzzle, and next thing I know, he claps Peeta hard on the shoulder and says with a guttural laugh, “You sly dog… When were you going to say something?”

 

Delly overhears and by the way Peeta’s face turns beet red within seconds, the secret is out faster than I can connect my fist to Haymitch’s arm. He wraps me in a suffocating embrace in the next moment, the alcohol in his breath making my stomach turn—like everything else does these days—and as Peeta peels him off and tells him not to be so rough, Delly comes over, tears glittering in her eyes, saying the cravings will be crazy, but lucky for me that Peeta’s a baker and can probably make me whatever I end up wanting.

 

Later that night, I throw up again, as I have nearly every morning and every evening of the last few weeks. The midwife tells me morning sickness is a misnomer. I find out soon enough what she means by that.

 

It isn’t until I’m in my thirty-second week that the first craving hits. It comes out of nowhere, waking me up in the middle of the night. When my eyes fly open, staring out into nothing, I just lie there, alert and wired, trying to remember what it was that yanked me so abruptly from some vague dream. The breeze is making the glass of the window rattle in the panes, and I slide up to sitting, with this strange gnawing inside me—a hunger I can’t even put a name to, let alone shake.

 

Only it’s nothing like any hunger I’ve ever felt before.

  
I’m salivating. I have no idea what I want exactly; I just know my taste buds are desperately seeking a particular sensation. Something sweet. Silky. Decadent. I close my eyes and practically feel a shiver run through me at the thought of… _something_ that can meet that craving.

 

I poke at my sleeping husband.

 

“Peeta…”

 

He doesn’t stir. He’s still curled up against my body, his arm slung over my lap, and he gives an involuntary twitch at the sound of my voice, tugging on my hip.

 

“Peeta…”

 

He suddenly jerks awake. “What is it? Are you having contractions?”

 

“No, nothing like that.”

 

He blinks a few times, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, then he rubs the heel of his hand over his forehead. “It’s two in the morning,” he says. His words stretch out, skip across a yawn. “Do you want me to close the window? Is it making too much noise?”

 

“No…”

 

He stops rubbing his forehead and looks up at me. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, too, and I can see his brow is furrowed. I’ve got him worried. Early on in the pregnancy, I’d wake him like this, trembling and bathed in sweat, muttering like a madwoman, telling him I could feel blood. But there wasn’t any. There never was. And each time, he’d have to calm me down, cradling me until I stopped crying, telling me it was just a nightmare.

 

“I’m ok,” I say. “No nightmares.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure. I’ve just… got a craving. That’s all.”

 

“Oh.” There’s confusion on his face at first, as he tries to process my words. Maybe he was expecting something else. Then he breaks out into a smile, and a few seconds later, I hear him laugh. “Oh, I thought… Thank God that’s all it is…”

 

I laugh, too. Embarrassment spreads through me, even as the gnawing grows stronger. It’s almost painful now.

 

“Well, what are you in the mood for?” he says.

 

“I’m not sure. Just… something sweet. And if I don’t have something in the next few minutes, I may lose my mind.”

 

He chuckles under his breath. I hear rustling as he kicks the blankets aside.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To get you something for your craving,” he says matter-of-factly.

 

There’s clanging down in the kitchen a few minutes later, then the snap-hiss of a stove burner turning on, and it isn’t long after that when an intense sweetness hits the air, wafting upwards and reaching the bedroom. My mouth waters at first sniff. I go heady taking it in, as though my body is reacting of its own accord.

 

So this is what a craving feels like.

 

Another few minutes go by and I can’t stand it anymore. The fragrance is maddening, teasing me, and finally, I roll out of bed and pad my way downstairs, almost delirious with anticipation.

 

“Hey,” he says, looking up at me when I enter the kitchen. “You didn’t have to come down, I was going to bring this up to you.”

 

He’s pouring something out of a sauce pan and into a bowl. It’s thick and dark and glides down, plopping into smooth clumps. Remnants of it cling to the sides and he has to reach into the pan with his spatula to scrape down every last bit.

 

My eyes must go wide, because he laughs at my reaction.

 

“Or you could just have it here,” he says. His brow is raised in amusement.

 

I give him my best scowl. “It’s not nice to make fun of the mother of your child.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

He sets the sauce pan down into the sink. He’s about to put the spatula in there, too, until I grab hold of his wrist.

 

“Ah, you want to lick it clean…”

 

I should be mortified, but I’m not. All I know is I want a taste of whatever this is he’s made.

 

He runs a finger down the surface of the spatula, picking up whatever’s still clinging to it. I see now that it’s something made with chocolate. Thick and silky and gleaming in the brightness of the overhead lights in the kitchen. The scent of it hits me right between the eyes. He offers me his finger and I smile as I take it into my mouth, letting my tongue swirl around as I go for every smidgen of chocolate.

 

It’s pudding. But unlike any other pudding I’ve ever tasted—with hints of orange and almond and spice. The creaminess of it coats my tongue and leaves an imprint of its bittersweet flavor long after I’ve taken it in and its warmth settles in my stomach.

 

My brain goes into a frenzy.

 

“Like it?”

 

All I can do is close my eyes, lean back against the sink, and nod. He laughs and I feel his breath on my face when he leans in to kiss me. His tongue gently pries my lips open, the tip of it teasing mine. He’s had some of the pudding, too.

 

I can taste it on him.

 

I open my eyes to see him watching my reaction.

 

“Does this satisfy the craving?”

 

I reach down into the sink, pick up more of the leftover pudding on the spatula, then lick it off my finger. The bowl lays untouched on the table, still warm and glistening.

 

“Suddenly, I’ve got a different kind of craving,” I say.

 

His smile tells me he knows exactly what I mean.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the wonderful **madefrommemories** for lending her sharp beta eyes on this. Xoxo.
> 
> I thought I'd retired from fanfic, but... here I am. Never say never, right? :)
> 
> I've been immersed in working on my original work for the last year. If my writing intrigues you and you'd like to check out my original fiction, [come follow me over here](http://www.jenniferibarra.com/books/).


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